Doubt
by Mermes
Summary: Was this really what he wanted? To forever be a puppet in Pasiphae's hands?


_Thwack._

The sound echoed loudly in his chambers as he grabbed yet another dagger. He pictured the young man's face as he took aim. What was his name again? Jacen? No, Jason.

_Thwack._

He was ruining everything that Heptarian had worked so hard to achieve. Everything. A few glances, even fewer words, and he had whisked Ariadne away from him. Heptarian did not care much for the girl, but she was the only thing standing between him and the throne.

Well, _Pasiphae_ and the throne, technically. His aunt had never bothered to hide the fact that if he became King, he would be no more than a puppet.

_Thwack._

By the Gods, Heptarian didn't even _want_ the throne. He wasn't sure of what he wanted anymore. Ever since he'd arrived in Atlantis after his parents' deaths he had been a toy in Pasiphae's hands, doing everything that she commanded. An endless mantra of orders he had no choice but to follow.

Become one of Minos' finest soldiers.

Win Ariadne's affections.

Marry Ariadne.

Become King.

It was all a massive weight on his shoulders, not unlike the one Atlas had had to carry. Many a sleepless night he had wondered if he could just run away from it all, if it would be worth it. It was all a lost cause where Ariadne was concerned, anyway, since she now spent her days daydreaming about the boy.

Just thinking about Jason made him see red, and he threw the dagger so hard it was buried to the hilt when it hit the target. Everything had been going perfectly until he showed up, and after the events of the night before...

His whole body tensed at the memory.

Pasipahe hadn't been pleased that he'd let Ariadne escape so easily. After the princess had returned to the castle she had summoned Heptarian to her chambers, where she had been waiting for him with that damned doll in her hands. It wasn't unlike the one she'd made with Jason's hair, and it certainly had the same effect.

"Remember why you're here," she'd said as she carefully pricked the doll with a needle. Not enough to make him scream, but still very painful. It had happened before. Many times, actually, but it never got any easier. Feeling as though a knife was slowly digging into his skin, twisting, slicing, tearing muscle, going deeper and deeper-

There was a gasp and a clatter as a dagger fell to the floor.

He'd been so lost in his thoughts he had cut himself with the blade. Muttering a few curses, he looked for a piece of cloth, but found none.

"Georgios!"

The boy all but ran into the room. "Y-Yes, lord Heptarian?"

"Fetch me some bandages and hot water." The cut was bleeding quite heavily now, he didn't want to risk an infection. "And do it quickly."

"Y-Yes, my lord."

He watched the blood trailing down his palm absentmindedly, wishing it was Jason's. Oh, what wouldn't he give to end his life... It would be simple, really. The man was no warrior, and though he was good, Heptarian was better. And all of his troubles would be at an end: Ariadne would be his, Pasiphae would have her throne...

_'But what about me?'_ he wondered. He wouldn't really gain anything apart from his life, for he was sure that his aunt would get rid of him eventually if he failed. Was this really what he wanted? To forever be a puppet in Pasiphae's hands?

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his reverie. "I believe I told you to return quickly," he said irritably.

"I apologize, my lord," said a soft, unfamiliar voice; a _female_ voice. He turned around sharply.

"And you are...?" Unlike Ariadne, he'd never bothered to learn the names of the servants. They were all the same, and they didn't deserve his attention as long as they did their tasks properly.

"Leandra, my lord." She wasn't particularly pretty, with too-pale skin and an excessive amount of freckles. Her hair was unusually short, just barely reaching her shoulders, and combined with the way she hung her head, it hid most of her face. Not that he'd want to see it, anyway.

"Get on with it, then. I don't have all day," he snapped.

Leandra nodded and started tending to the cut, carefully dabbing it with a foul-smelling green paste. It stung, but Heptarian barely felt it. He'd been through worse, after all. He watched the girl as she worked; She certainly knew what she was doing. With quick, clever fingers she wrapped a strip of cloth around the injury and tied it into a neat knot.

"You should change this twice a day and put your hand in hot water for a few minutes before you do it," she said, taking a step back. "My lord," she added hastily.

"You may go." Heptarian was inwardly muttering every single curse he knew. Precisely what he needed right now: To not be able to use his sword hand. He had rarely felt so... so _vulnerable_.

Leandra curtsied, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she turned to leave. It was then that he caught a glimpse of something. "Wait," he said, standing up.

"My lord?"

"Your cheek." What was he doing? "What is that?"

Leandra looked mortified. "I-It's nothing, my lord. Truly. May I lea-"

"No, you may not," he interrupted, taking a step towards her. They were mere inches apart now, and he couldn't help noticing how short she was. And skinny. He lifted her chin, which made her hair fall back, revealing a painful-looking bruise on her right cheek. "Who did this to you?"

"N-No one, my lord." Leandra wouldn't look at him.

"I do not appreciate being lied to," he said, his voice dangerously low. He already had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who had hit her.

Her eyes met his, and he had rarely seen someone look as terrified as she did now. "It was you, my lord. Last night. I-I was carrying the King's dinner and you... um... i-in a corridor..." She trailed off.

It took him a moment to realize that the emotion that was clawing at his insides and making him feel like a worthless maggot was guilt. He, Heptarian, felt _guilty_. He had hit a woman, the one thing he had sworn he would never do, for it was the height of dishonor. He took pride in hurting strong men, did not care much for hurting old, weak men, but to hit a woman... He remembered last night's events now. He had been so intent on preventing Ariadne from escaping that he had mindlessly pushed and snapped at Leandra. By the Gods, what was becoming of him?

"If I may leave now, my lord?" said the girl, looking at him warily. She seemed to be expecting him to hit her. Again.

"Yes, yes. Of course." He felt sick.

She turned to leave and, just as she reached the door, he couldn't stop himself from saying: "Leandra?"

"Yes, lord Heptarian?" She seemed to taste his name on her lips.

"I am truly sorry."

That was the first time he said those words.


End file.
